Turning 61 And Dad

CREWE, VA -- When my late father turned 61 in 1975, I thought he was ancient, although by that point I was beginning to settle into a newspaper career and to gain responsibilities of my own.

This is being written on Monday, June 13, 2005. If I am still around on Saturday, June 18, I will hit 61. Unbelievable. Where have the years gone? I don't really want to know the answer.

For all of the years, I do not feel any older than I did back in 1975. I really don't. But my body, no doubt, would tell a different story.

My point is not the years, but the life in my father's years, what he made of them. He made a lot of 70 years.

I come to this subject in the shadows not only of a birthday, but also of Father's Day that arrives on Sunday.

Most of us tend to idealize our dads. In my case, Donald Charles Gunter has been dead for nearly 21 years, but he lives in my life daily. I feel his presence all the more as I get older.

Among the most enduring memories of him was his kindness. He was not much on sermonizing. He simply lived his kindness and decency. He loved newspapers and words, but he let his actions speak for him.

I recall getting really angry at him because he did not slash out at those who had done him real wrong. I cannot recall a single instance when he struck back in anger. And I can never remember when he said an unkind word about another human being. Unkindness simply was not in his soul.

I laugh sometimes when my sons get angry at me for not striking back at those who truly tried to do me in in Crewe. They and their mother cannot understand why I don't get fighting mad when some malcontent attacks me verbally in a letter to the editor.

I obviously have gotten much angrier about some folks and circumstances than my dad would have. But I ask myself, "How would he have handled the situation?"

He would have gone about his business and let people say what they will say, and he would not lower himself to their level by being mean-spirited.

The older I get, the more I come to that conclusion. My father knew what he was about, although admittedly he never had to endure the crucible his only son faced in Southside Virginia. But he faced some other problems far more difficult than those we have encountered here.

My mother, who had Irish roots, took a different approach to life. She was ready to wage war on those who did her wrong. I got some of that trait in my psyche, too, and it is in constant turmoil with the temperament clearly inherited from my father.

There is a time for each temperament -- for kindness and for anger. But on this Father's Day's I remember my dad for his kindness in little and big things. And I can say without fear of embellishing it that he was the finest man I have known. He never made a lot of money. He did not belong to a fancy country club or hold political office. He was a working man, a Roosevelt Democrat and a Southerner. He always considered himself as just one of the common men of his generation. But he was an extraordinary man, the kindest human being I have known, and I always will be proud to be the son of Donald Charles Gunter.